After the storm

The smell of antiseptic and fresh sheets hit Amelia's senses just before her eyes opened. At first, everything was a blur—the white ceiling above her, the gentle hum of the air conditioner, and the beeping of a monitor nearby. Her head throbbed, dull and persistent, like her thoughts were trying to claw their way back in. But it was the weight in her chest that bothered her the most; the painful realization that something had gone seriously wrong. 

She blinked slowly, letting her eyes adjust to the dim light. The room felt eerily quiet, except for the soft, steady breathing beside her. Turning her head a bit, she spotted Adrian sitting in a chair next to her bed, arms crossed, head resting against the wall. His tux jacket was gone, and he had rolled up his shirt sleeves, revealing faint scratches on his forearms. 

He looked wiped out. No, not just tired. More like completely spent. A wave of panic washed over her. She tried to sit up but winced at the discomfort. Every part of her felt like she’d run a marathon and then collapsed. 

Adrian stirred. 

“Hey,” he said softly, instantly alert. He leaned in, reaching for her. “Don’t push yourself. You’re safe now. Just... take it easy.” 

Safe. The word rang in her mind, feeling cold and empty. She didn’t feel safe. She felt violated, even though the details were hazy. She remembered dancing, a blonde woman, and watching Adrian from a distance. And then— 

Her breath caught. 

“Where—?” she started, her voice sounding scratchy and strange. “Where am I?” 

“What happened? I don’t remember anything." The more she tried to recall, the further away it seemed. 

“You’re in one of the private suites. Same place. I brought you here after... after everything.” He didn’t finish, but the look on his face said plenty. 

Her fingers dug into the sheets. “Did he—?”

“No,” Adrian interrupted quickly. “I got there in time. I swear, Amelia, he didn’t touch you. Not in the way you’re thinking.” 

Something inside her relaxed at that, but the tension didn’t completely fade. She shut her eyes for a moment, focusing on her breathing. 

“How long have I been out?” 

“A few hours. The doctor checked on you. You were drugged. He must've slipped a sedative in your drink while you were distracted. You fought him off longer than most would’ve, Amelia.” 

Hearing her name from his lips felt different now—not in that bossy or teasing way but more personal, heavy with unspoken words. 

She looked away. “I should’ve seen it coming. I should’ve known.” 

“How could you have known?” Adrian asked. “He disguised himself. He wore a wig, fake lashes, and padded himself... He planned this down to the last detail.” 

“Still,” she whispered. “I should’ve been more careful.” 

“You're not psychic, Lia. You can’t control everything,” he replied, giving her a pointed look. 

Adrian grabbed a bottle of water from the nightstand and handed it to her. She hesitated before taking it, her fingers brushing his—warm, solid, real. 

“Why?” she finally broke the silence. 

“Why what?” 

“Why did you come for me? Why stick around? You could’ve left once the job was done. This wasn’t what you signed up for.”

Adrian's eyes were fixed on hers, and for a moment, the air between them felt tight and fragile.  

"Cause I couldn’t just walk away. Not from you. Not like that."  

She glanced down, feeling a lump in her throat.  

"You’re making this way harder than it needs to be."  

"Maybe it was always meant to be tough," Adrian said softly. "Maybe this is more than just a job now."  

"And we signed a contract, right? So, to everyone else, we’re married, and I’ll always be there for you when you need me."  

Amelia pulled the sheet up, feeling oddly exposed even though she was completely dressed. Her hair was a mess, her head hurt, and her heart was doing flips she couldn’t quite understand. His words affected her, but she kept a wall up. No one could know she actually had feelings.  

"But still—"  

Adrian raised a hand to stop her. It felt a bit disrespectful, but she let it go; he’d helped her, so she figured she could overlook it.  

"Do you think the press knows?" she asked quietly.  

Adrian sighed and leaned back in his chair. "We’ve managed to keep most of it under wraps. A few folks noticed you left the ballroom, but no one saw you with you. I... took care of it."  

"Took care of it how?"  

He hesitated. "Let’s just say Gray won’t be around again anytime soon."  

She wanted to ask more, but something held her back—maybe it was the look in Adrian’s eyes or the tiredness hanging on his shoulders.  

She turned her head and stared at the ceiling again. "If this gets out, it'll mess up my custody battle. Nora doesn’t need this. I don’t need this."  

"Then we keep it quiet."  

She was quiet for a while, the kind of silence that felt heavy, mourning lost control, broken trust, and who she used to be before tonight.  

"You should get some rest," she finally said.  

"I’m not going anywhere."  

"Adrian—"  

"I’m not leaving, Amelia."  

Hearing her name again sent warmth through her. She didn’t have the energy to argue.  

So she shut her eyes, listening to his breathing and the quiet buzz of the room. Even though the storm wasn't completely over, she knew one thing for sure:  

Five minutes passed, and she opened her eyes, locking gazes with him before quickly looking away.  

"Thanks," she murmured after a bit.  

"For what?" Adrian asked, unsure if she was talking to him.  

"You know what, Adrian? Don’t make me spell it out," she whispered, shifting on the bed.  

Adrian smiled softly and got up.